“No, Eric,” said Russell sadly, “these dear flowers are the last spring blossoms that I shall see—­here at least.  Yes, I will keep them, for your sake, Eric, till I die.”

“Oh don’t talk so,” said Eric, shocked and flustered, “why everybody knows and says that you’re getting better.”

Russell smiled and shook his head.  “No, Eric, I shall die.  There stop, dear fellow, don’t cry,” said he, raising his hands quietly to Eric’s face; “isn’t it better for me so?  I own it seemed sad at first to leave this bright world and the sea—­yes, even that cruel sea,” he continued smiling; “and to leave Roslyn, and Upton, and Monty, and, above all, to leave you, Eric, whom I love best in all the world.  Yes, remember I’ve no home, Eric, and no prospects.  There was nothing to be sorry for in this, so long as God gave me health and strength; but health went for ever into those waves at the Stack, where you saved my life, dear, gallant Eric; and what could I do now?  It doesn’t look so happy to halt through life.  Oh Eric, Eric, I am young, but I am dying—­dying, Eric,” he said solemnly, “my brother; let me call you brother; I have no near relations, you know, to fill up the love in my yearning heart, but I do love you.  Kiss me, Eric, as though I were a child, and you a child.  There, that comforts me; I feel as if I were a child again, and had a dear brother;—­and I shall be a child again soon, Eric, in the courts of a Father’s house.”

Eric could not speak.  These words startled him; he never dreamt recently of Russell’s death, but had begun to reckon on his recovery, and now life seemed darker to him than ever.

But Russell was pressing the flowers to his lips.  “The grass withereth,” he murmured, “the flower fadeth, and the glory of its beauty perisheth; but—­but the word of the Lord endureth for ever.”  And here he too burst into natural tears, and Eric pressed his hand, with more than a brother’s fondness, to his heart.

“Oh Eddy, Eddy, my heart is full,” he said, “too full to speak to you.  Let me read to you;” and with Russell’s arm round his neck he sat down, beside his pillow, and read to him about “the pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.”  At first sobs choked his voice, but it gathered firmness as he went on.

“In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

“And there shall be no more curse”—­and here the reader’s musical voice rose into deeper and steadier sweetness—­“but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him; and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.”

“And they shall see his face,” murmured Russell, “and they shall see his face” Eric paused and looked at him; a sort of rapture seemed to be lighted in his eyes, as though they saw heavenly things, and his countenance was like an angel’s to look upon.  Eric closed the book reverently, and gazed.